


We are Stronger

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, It's pretty horrible, M/M, SO MUCH SADNESS, Sadness, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five are to go and save the world, but five are guaranteed not to return. This is the story of those selections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are Stronger

The man was tall and thin, and stood straight. He appeared older than all of them, but in reality, they were ancient, some more ancient than others. He wore a military uniform, but not one from anywhere in particular, and on his breast were medals that he had earned the war before, not the war present. 

They watched him in silence; waiting for him to say whatever he had summoned them to say, impatient, though silent. They sat on one side of the great room, the room that they always gathered in, and the man stood at the other, beside the door where two guards stood, still and proper. The Europeans stood on one side and the others sat at the other side, huddled together like stubborn penguins. A few of them held books or phones or cups of tea, but none of the objects were utilized. The eyes that watched watched and dared the military man to say what was in need of being said. 

The man wiped his brow with a handkerchief and twenty pairs of eyes bore into him, wanting to know, wanting to know if there was a solution, if there was a way out. The man at the door took a deep breath and tried to steady his beating heart. He wanted so badly to be able to look these people in the eye, he wanted so badly to tell them that it was alright, that they were going to be okay, because everyone in the room knew that if it was only asked of them they would do it. They would do it a thousand times just to do what needed to be done. 

“A-As you know,” the man began, “you... as countries... are obliged to take personalized skill tests each year and threw this we have created a list of five... of five... of five of the most suited to our battlefield and the mission.” 

The mission. 

A few countries lowered their heads into their hands, a few let out sad sighs and a few others let their shoulders slump in the grief that filled their hearts. 

The mission that would kill five of them, the mission that split their ancient years, the mission that would prove their mortality, the mission that would screw them all. It was only them who could do it, it was always only them who could do it, it was a suicide mission and they were the only one’s that it was legal to send in. A plus of not knowing how old you were, they all supposed. But it would end the war; their people would be saved. 

Pits of darkness formed in each of their bellies and slithered up and down their spines. 

The man beside the door almost began to cry, so hurt that he would have to stand there while an ancient being’s execution date was read out. The people who had raised him, the people who had taken care of him, kept him alive, just as his father had done before him we going to die and he was going to cry at their funerals. 

“I’d just like to say…” he faltered, “I’d just like to say that I’m sorry... that I’m so, so sorry. A-And hope that you will be able to forgive us for this.” They wouldn't, they were taking from them five. Five people they had warred with and loved and they would never forgive that. Not ever. 

The military man took a solemn step back and gestured to one of the guards to call out the names. 

The guard stepped forwards and wouldn’t look any of them in the eye, he just stared down at his paper and tried not to think. Those that knew their names wouldn’t be called already began to mourn, bending over their knees as they sat in their seats and praying to whatever god they held dear, praying that it was a hoax, that they would be okay, that they would survive. 

The guard began, the first name in his head and not knowing who it belonged to.

“The Republic of Belarus, Natalia Braginsky.” 

That was expected, sort of. 

The young lady with the long blond hair and the serious look hugged her brother and her sister, wished them good bye and went to the stand behind the guard. She wrung her hands together so that they wouldn’t shake, her breathing quivered and she stared at the floor, they watched her with wide eyes, sympathizing with even she. 

“The Empire of Great Britain, Captain Arthur Kirkland.” 

That wasn’t expected. 

America stood up straight, from his chair across the room, letting the loud clatter of his fallen seat echo through the room. He watched in shocked silence as the smaller man stand all slow. Moving like he was old, old and powerful, because that was what he was. In the back of his mind and in the deep chasms of his heart he had always known that his name would be called, it was inevitable. He felt another hand take his limp by his side and press it to a pair of lips that so often spread bad word in his name. Francis looked up at him and quietly cried. Arthur ran his fingers through blond hair so familiar to him and let himself have this single final moment with the man he loved, even if it was only happening because they knew that he was going to die. For a moment England just stood there, among them all, breathing, steadying himself for a fight. 

Before he could move to stand beside him, the guard stated another name. 

“The Nation of Italia, Feliciano Vargas.” 

England hadn’t been expected, at least not expected by anyone but him, but Italy, Italy was a whole new definition of useless. Germany stood in a rush, a look of shock and horror covering his face; like he couldn’t believe that any of this was happening, like he was hoping that it was all a nightmare. As if on instinct, as if he had no other choice he strapped one of his arms in front of the smaller man, barring him, protecting him. There were a lot of things that Germany hadn't defended when thought he should have, the world wars were proof enough of that, but this was Italy. He didn't deserve the fate being handed to him. He wouldn't allow it, he wouldn't allow another person he loved to be taken from him, he wouldn't, he wouldn't! They watched as Italy stood anyway, placing his hand on Germany’s arm. He had a look of surreal dismay on his face. He might’ve appeared useless, and cowardly, and constantly afraid, but these were his people. These were people he was willing to die for, and die for, and die for. 

Silently, England appeared at his side, wrapping his arm across the younger man’s arms and whispering in his ear. 

“We are stronger.”

A numb nod and they walked forward not looking back, not having the courage. 

The guard began again as the two men stood behind him. Arthur wrapped his arm around the girl’s shoulders, ignoring the grateful smile that her brother gave him, staring forward as Ludwig began to silently weep into his hands, muttering prayers he had long since abandoned, the cracks under his skin beginning to show. 

“The People’s Republic of China, Yao Wang.” 

It took a long time for him to stand, but eventually, as his brothers and sisters wept around him, he did. Standing, tall and brave and ready to die. He was ready for this, he had fought wars for this, he was not afraid. he was over the four thousand years old, the oldest person in this room and maybe, just maybe, he thought it was time to die. Arthur was looking at him with those green eyes of his and he gave him what small amount of smile he had left in his soul to him. This man's country had once torn his apart, but the man himself he held very dear in his heart, and not many people would of noticed, but he could see that the man was barely hanging on. 

The youngest of his siblings held onto his red sleeves as he slipped from his grasp. He kissed the forehead of each of them before he left, before going and standing behind Arthur. As gently as he could, he placed his hand on the other man's lower back and he almost caved at the older man’s touch, desperate for some sign that he wasn't alone. This was the way that it would work. Arthur would take care of Feliciano and Natalia and he would look after Arthur.

The final name:

“The Nation of Iceland, Emil Steilsson.”

His brother had to be pried off him in order for him to walk to the others, hysterical screams filled the room, and he was too young. Arthur closed his eyes and took a single frail breath, staring forward as Yao went to collect the boy and his shocked expression. How surprising it felt that their ability to stay alive was the thing that would kill them. Under his arms Feliciano was still as a stone, numb and growing cold, though Natalia quaked and shook and attempted to control herself. He lent down to her and whispered in her ear in hope that she wouldn't hold a knife to his throat:

"Do it with thy might, Natalia."

The girl sniffed and steadied. 

After the final name they were led out of the room by the guards and the tall, thin man with all the medals, leaving the other nations to live with the fact that five of the people that they had raised, that they had been raised by, that they had taken care of, that they had fought, that they had fought for were going to die only so that they could live in a world without them in it.

They came back late that night, all saying the same thing. That they had one night to say goodbye to their lives; one night to say goodbye to everyone they loved, one night to hug and kiss everything that needed to be hugged and kissed. Just one night, just one night to say goodbye to it all. 

The next morning they went to that room again, ready to go, ready to die. They wore the clothes they wanted to die in and the people next to them were the people they wanted to hold before they died. 

England was dressed in his military uniform, not the one that he usually wore, the one he wore to events, the one with all the gold detailing and the sword and the medals and the silver buttons, the one that France designed specially for him. He stood tall and he stood proud and his hair wasn't brushed because he hadn't felt like doing it. His every breath was an act of defiance and his every movement was one of barely restrained fear. He had made his boys stay at home; he didn’t want them to see him getting ready to die. hefore he had left he had held them tight and let them tell him anything they wanted to without getting angry. He had held them and they had held him back, begging him to fight for his life, to refuse to go, to remain being their dad for just a little big longer. All he had done was kiss their heads and hold them close. France went with him to the meeting place and wrapped his arms around him and refused to let go, kissing the head of the boy he had raised and the man that he love with all his heart. With every moment his heart grew closer to shattering in his chest. 

Italy came in jeans, and a t-shirt, and tears streaked down his face every moment that he had to stay in that room. Ludwig begged him to stay, following him wherever he went, barely daring to even blink. He held small hands and looked into wide eyes and begged like he had never begged before, for him to survive, for him to put up a fight, but Italy only responded with kisses and endless, desperate utterances of the words “I love you”. I love you, I love you, I love you. Like that was the only insurance he needed, like that was all he want to leave behind, just the knowledge implanted in Germany’s mind that he loved him more than he loved life itself. That was all he needed, it was all he would ever need. His brother would be mad at him, a lot of people would be mad at him, but he wouldn't not do what needed to be done. 

China came with nobody, he would not be accompanied to his grave, he would walk all by himself. He wore the clothes that he had wore for a thousand years, the clothes that he would carry into the next life because he had no time to change. A pile of letters sat on his desk in his home, ready to be found, ready for his dying wishes and loves to be shared. 

That day the war ended, that day they never saw Captain Arthur Kirkland, Natalia Braginsky, Feliciano Vargas, Emil Steilsson, or Yao Wang alive again. By the end of the week their bodies were found, holding each other under the rubble of a burnt out building with their eyes still open, staring up at a sky they would never see again.


End file.
